


Before I Leave You for Good

by Xavantina



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Drugged Sex, Dub/non-con, Forced Orgasm, Hannibal is evil, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Yes, the original plan was to leave before Chilton woke up. But what if he didn’t? How would Chilton react, if he woke up and Hannibal was still here? How would he react if...</i>
</p><p> <i>Curiosity always gets the better of him, and Hannibal knows that this can be a weakness sometimes, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Leave You for Good

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr and I have enjoyed the thought that Hannibal spent all this time making Chilton look gorgeous while covered in blood, but then someone suggested that maybe Hannibal couldn't help himself after all and stuck around until Chilton woke up...

Hannibal spent a lot of time and effort on the kitchen. The corpses were one thing (The Wound Man; a classic. A disembowelment; a personal gift for Frederick). The walls were quite another.

He had carefully drained a fair amount of blood from both FBI agents and decorated the pristine white surfaces with various intricate patterns. He takes inspiration from Hermann Nitsch’s paintings, but adding his own touch; at the same time restrained and unrestrained, delicate and savage. Blood spatter really is an art form. It saddens him to know that it won’t be appreciated.

He saves some for Chilton of course. Once he is satisfied with the kitchen, he finds a small basting brush in a drawer (unused, not surprisingly) and walks into the living room. He already left Chilton passed out in an armchair. He will most likely remain blissfully unaware with for another half hour, maybe a bit less. That gives Hannibal plenty of time to work.

He knows Chilton won't call the police. Therefore the blood on his clothes won't have to look authentic. It is simply meant to add to Chilton's panic, to make sure that he will try to run. That gives Hannibal some additional artistic license.

Chilton's suit had already been wrinkled doing his spectacular fall and pitiful attempts at struggling while Hannibal sedated him, but it could do with a bit more. So Hannibal kneels in front of the chair, carefully setting down the blood and brush on the floor, unbuttons the other man's jacket and starts loosening his tie. He tilts the ostentatious tie pin (Hannibal always hated those things - meant to draw attention, obviously, but much too gaudy in his opinion), and uses his hands to tear at the various fabrics until he is suitably rumbled. 

That brings him to the blood. He covers the front of Chilton's shirt and the lapels of his suit jacket with broad strokes, leaving large random splotches (it’s a nice jacket, he almost feels bad for ruining it). Then some on his hands (he will notice that the minute he wakes; people always panic when they find blood on their hands), leaving his face.

This is precision work. Hannibal dips the brush and then flicks it with his finger, spreading a light trail of tiny droplets along the side of Chilton’s face, his forehead and his chin. At his hairline he leaves a bit more, watching with satisfaction as the blood trickles down in a perfect line. Next is the collar of his shirt. Finally he puts some on Chilton’s neck and uses his fingers to smudge it a bit.

Unexpectedly, Chilton moans at the touch. Hannibal pauses.

He considers the sleeping man for a moment. This will be his last moment of relative peace. It's almost sad - Chilton is undeniably physically attractive, in his own way, especially once Hannibal has casually ruffled his hair a bit (blood from his fingers stick in it, helping it retain its new style). He has nice hair, soft and thick. Hannibal should have slept with him while he had the chance. It would have been easy to seduce him. Chilton is pathetic and lonely, desperate for any kind of positive attention. Hannibal can’t help but imagine how responsive Chilton would have been, what he would have done for even a tiny bit of human affection. He could have controlled Chilton more easily if he had fostered an emotional connection, bought some more time perhaps. It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done, and Hannibal wasted that opportunity.

Well... not necessarily.

Hannibal tilts his head. An idea occurs to him, and while it is not a very good one, it is an interesting one.

He runs his fingers through Chilton’s hair again, grabs a handful and then tugs it. Chilton lets out another moan, head lolling to the side and into the touch.

Yes, the original plan was to leave before Chilton woke up. But what if he didn’t? How would Chilton react, if he woke up and Hannibal was still here? How would he react if...

Curiosity always gets the better of him, and Hannibal knows that this can be a weakness sometimes, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up.

He runs his fingers down the front of Chilton’s shirt (the urge to take off his latex gloves is tempting, but he isn’t that thoughtless), firmly enough for the pressure to register even though Chilton is not about to wake up. He locates the other man’s nipples and pinches them through the bloodied fabric, hard. Chilton lets out a gasp, pushing his chest out. Hannibal carefully observes his face. Five minutes, maybe, until he will be regaining consciousness. Plenty of time for Hannibal to take advantage of this enticing state of semi-awareness.

Opening the bottom of Chilton’s shirt, Hannibal slides his hands under it to caress Chilton’s soft stomach. He goes further, locating his scar, the eternal reminder of his failure as a psychiatrist. He trails his finger along the jagged edge, noting the way Chilton tenses and then relaxes, a tiny whimper escaping his lips. Hannibal finds his nipples again, tweaking them a bit more gently this time. Chilton’s reaction is the same, apart from the way he throws his head back, baring the long column of his throat. If Hannibal didn’t have to worry about leaving DNA on him (and ruining his work), he would be licking the blood off Chilton’s neck by now, leaving bite marks and bruises on his skin. 

Hannibal continues to explore Chilton’s chest with one hand, extracting the other to place his on one of his thighs. He always liked Chilton’s thighs – muscular, yet soft under his touch. He lightly runs his hand from Chilton’s knee and upwards, stopping well before his crotch and then sliding it downwards again, going further each time. Chilton’s breathing is growing labored under Hannibal’s ministrations, and his body is starting to respond more frequently. 

When Hannibal slides both hands underneath Chilton’s thighs, his hips arch off the chair, allowing Hannibal to grab his ass and squeeze it. Chilton chokes on a deep groan, pushing his hips out a bit further. Once again Hannibal mourns the fact that he never fucked this deplorable man. He is delightfully responsive in every way.

And a quick look confirms that he is hard already. Hannibal smiles to himself. He must have been starved for physical contact of any sort.

Judging by Chilton’s breathing and increasingly coordinated movements, he will be waking up soon, so Hannibal gives his ass one last fondle and pulls his hands away, finally cupping his dick through his ruined pants and rubbing the heel of his hand against it. Chilton lets out a throaty moan, pressing upwards into Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal traces the outline of his erection, pondering his next move. 

He unbuckles Chilton’s belt with practiced efficiency, unbuttons his pants and roughly tugs them down along with his underwear (Chilton actually lifts his hips to help – of course he does), leaving them around his thighs. He settles comfortably between Chilton’s knees and grabs his erection with one hand and cups one of his hipbones with the other. He gives Chilton’s dick a few quick strokes to get him fully erect and then settles on a light, teasing rhythm. Then he waits.

It doesn’t take long. Chilton is squirming in the chair, his breathing ragged, and soon enough his eyes start to flutter open. He looks fearful already. The sensational inputs must be frying his brain. His gaze flicks around the room aimlessly, before he lifts his hand to touch the side of his face. Hannibal stills his hand. Chilton notices the blood and freezes. Only then do his eyes travel downwards, along the expanse of his blood-soaked shirt and finally settling on Hannibal. For a couple of seconds, he is uncomprehending, too drugged up and disorientated to recognize Hannibal or realize what he is doing. Then the fog clears.

Chilton lets out a panicked shout and tries to move backwards, which is obviously impossible. Instead he tries to squirm away, all the while whimpering “oh my god, oh my god” under his breath.

Hannibal gives his dick a firm tug, eyes focused on Chilton’s face. “I think you better stay where you are, Frederick. For your own sake.” He digs his fingers into Chilton’s hip, hard.

Chilton immediately stops moving, every single muscle in his body tensing to the point where he starts shaking. He stares down at Hannibal with wide, terrified eyes. “Please,” he whispers.

“Please what?” Hannibal asks, punctuating by stroking Chilton’s erection. He circles his thumb over the head, pre-come making the latex glove slip easier across the tender skin.

Chilton sobs dryly. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Hannibal is smirking now, thoroughly enjoying himself. Fear is a sorely underestimated aphrodisiac. The feeling of impending danger can spark strong sexual arousal and attraction in some individuals – Chilton is one of them. He is still just as hard as he was before he regained consciousness, and when Hannibal keeps stroking him, he bites down hard on his bottom lip to stifle whatever sound of pleasure that might otherwise have escaped.

“Don’t hurt me,” he begs.

Hannibal releases his grip on Chilton’s hip, tenderly stroking his flank instead. “I’m not going to hurt you, Frederick. Not unless you force me to.”

Chilton nods shakily, despite obviously not knowing what he is agreeing to. Like most living beings on this earth he doesn’t want to die, and he is willing to do anything to make Hannibal spare him. He really is a pitiful creature.

The question of compliance taken care of, all that remains is for Hannibal to decide the best way to frighten and traumatize Chilton even further. The answer seems obvious: Chilton knows about Hannibal’s dietary habits. Therefore he most likely finds the idea of Hannibal’s mouth anywhere near him extremely... chilling.

Hannibal leans down and drags the flat of his tongue along the underside of Chilton’s cock from root to tip, and true enough, Chilton whimpers desperately and starts trying to wiggle away again. Hannibal gives him a firm glare. Chilton immediately stops moving, trying and failing to stifle a string of small gasps when Hannibal repeats the action twice over.

While oral sex always has to involve some level of variation, based on the recipients’ personal preference, the basics are always the same. Hannibal won’t be doing Chilton a favor by getting him off quickly, at least not as quickly as he could do it if he wanted to. No, seconds will already feel like hours for the other man, and minutes will feel like days. The longer, the better.

Hannibal sucks gently on the head of Chilton’s cock, stroking the shaft with his hand. He looks up to see that Chilton’s jaw is clenched tight. He is trying to breathe through his nose now, no doubt to limit the noises he is making, but the shaky inhales and harsh exhales are loud and obvious, and Hannibal enjoys them almost as much as the moans he will be wringing out soon enough. Actually...

He pulls his mouth off with a small ‘pop’. “Now there, Frederick, none of that. You like this, don’t you? Let me hear how much you like it.”

Chilton’s eyes are despairing, but he hasn’t got a choice; he opens his mouth and whines, “Y-yes, I... I like it. Please don’t stop.”

Pleased by the unexpected addition of words (pretty, pleading words), Hannibal smiles and bends his head to take Chilton’s dick as deep into his mouth as he can manage from this angle. Chilton lets out a surprised groan, his hands flying to the armrests of the chair. While Hannibal teasingly bobs his head, Chilton digs his fingers into the expensive fabric so hard that Hannibal can hear it creak.

Hannibal settles into a slow rhythm, sucking and licking Chilton’s cock like he plans on doing it for the rest of the day. Chilton starts to realize this, but since he knows there is anything he can do about it, he simply follows Hannibal’s instructions and voices his pleasure (and his fear) with every breath. 

There is a great many things to be said for this activity. It offers a unlimited degree of power over the subject, who may not even realize that the person on their knees is the one who is in control of the situation. Chilton certainly knows, and the only shred control he is currently clinging to is his ability to control his own body. He might be moaning and breathing hard, but he isn’t moving.

Hannibal can change that. He starts to pick up the pace, made easy by the amount of saliva and pre-come covering Chilton’s erection. He slips his hand down to cradle Chilton’s balls and gently squeeze them with his fingers. He sucks hard on the tip of Chilton’s dick every so often and circles the glans with his tongue.

The reaction is as expected: Chilton’s body is starting to betray him once more. He shifts forward on the chair and starts rocking his hips up, pushing his dick further into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal hums to signal his approval.

“Please please please,” Chilton starts begging, his voice choked up. When Hannibal looks up he is thrilled by the sight that greets him; Chilton’s eyes are squeezed shut and tears are rolling down his flushed cheeks. Hannibal would have smiled if he could. Chilton is a shaking, terrified, whimpering, begging, beautiful, crying mess, and Hannibal is the one who brought him to this point.

He removes his mouth from Chilton’s cock, replacing it with his hand and stroking it quickly and efficiently. “What do you want, Frederick?”

Chilton opens his eyes. They’re huge and wet and oh-so gorgeous. “I want to come,” he says weakly. “Please.”

Hannibal gives him a little smile. “Good boy.”

All fancy technique is abandoned then, replaced by speed, depth and suction. Chilton moans helplessly, throwing his head back. It only takes a few moments, then his body tenses completely and with a sob he comes in Hannibal’s mouth.

(Hannibal files away a new bit of information: vegans do have pleasantly tasting sperm)

By the time Hannibal has swallowed every drop, Chilton has gone more or less limp, still gasping for breath. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t move while Hannibal takes out his pocket square and carefully wipes his saliva from Chilton’s cock. He has no doubt that even if Chilton is captured before taking a shower, he won’t tell anyone that this happened, but Hannibal didn’t get where he is today by being lazy with potential DNA evidence. He tucks away the pocket square as a keep-sake. Chilton’s eyes are on him again, wide and haunted.

Hannibal casually reaches for him again, pulling up Chilton’s underwear and pants, pushing part of the hem of his shirt into his waistline before closing them, re-buckling his belt. Chilton’s erratic breathing complicates matters a bit, but he manages. He sits back on his heels, taking in the sight one last time; the blood, the clothes, the hair, his flushed cheeks, his dilated pupils, the look at fear that twists his face. Chilton looks absolutely pathetic and absolutely wonderful.

Hannibal smiles at him and rises to his feet. He hands Chilton the gun he took off one of the agents, knowing Chilton won’t use it. Chilton isn’t a killer.

Chilton automatically accepts it, too traumatized to think straight.

When Hannibal runs his fingers through Chilton’s hair one last time, he barely flinches away.

“Now you can run, Frederick.”


End file.
